UnderDark
by Lachwen
Summary: PG for violence. Deep in the chasms of the Underdark, an abandoned Drow must fight for survival. I own nothing recognizable as another's work (ie: Drow, elves, ect) Terry Pratchett References!
1. Chapter One: Moonscape

The child knew better than to cry. Already she had learned that it made no difference. She stood mute as she was taken from her home. Matron Khehan looked on impassively as well; for all that it was her child who was taken. The girl was of no importance. She showed no aptitude for clerical magic of any kind. Therefore, she was expendable. So the mother's train of thought occurred. The child was of no matter. She would bear another. Power - now that was important. Matron Khehan intended to change the balance of power in Menzoberanzan.  
  
Yes, power. That was the only factor of life. She craved it, dreamed of it, and would sacrifice far more than one insignificant child for it. The girl would prove a rallying point for their house. The sacrifice of one for many. She smiled cruelly, already planning what she would say.  
  
The young girl gazed at her captors with full understanding. All of the lower houses knew that sometimes young children mysteriously 'disappeared' and 'wandered into the Underdark.' It was a suprising coincidence that these instances coexisted with the times when young fighters began their rounds of the Underdark - and needed experience. They often came to the 'rescue' of the 'missing' children... and none of the children so far had survived. They were looking for glory, after all - they did not care about such mere things as the life of a child. Her suspicions confirmed, they headed into the Underdark. The girl gazed into her captor's impassive eyes. The creatures were hideous, in their own right. They also were cruel and heartless. A lone Drow - defenseless- was too easy a target for them to refuse. The Hooked Horrors clicked their claws menacingly, advancing cautiously at first. Finally assured that it was not - at least not yet - a trap, they came in for the kill.  
  
The patrol spoke in the silent fingercode. They were too near to risk speaking. They were silent as shadows, cloaked in darkness and with souls to match. They had been told they were to rescue a young child from a minor house, but all knew it was really an excuse to give them experience fighting the monsters of the Underdark. If the squad leader had looked more carefully at the faces of the patrol he commanded, however, he would have seen one face that did not fully accept what was happening. Young Drizzt Do'Urden looked troubled under the cloak of darkness. His face stood out in sharp relief against the treacherous and crafty eyes of the rest of the party.  
  
She screamed. She was only a child, after all, and the claws hurt. She tried to scramble away, back from the clacking claws that were advancing swiftly towards her throat. Her tied hands caught on a rock, and she pitched over sideways. As she fell, a blinding pain shot through her abdomen - the claws had connected, tearing a gaping hole in her stomach. Dazed with pain, feeling her life's blood draining away into the darkness, she lay there unmoving. Let it be quick. That is all I ask. This time the Horror's claws dived for her head, intending to bash it into nothingness. She closed her eyes and waited for the end, the splitting pain and darkness that would end this torment. Her wounds throbbed, the gash in her stomach gaping - for with her hands bound she could not even attempt to hold it shut. The end was near.  
  
Drizzt heard the scream of a young Drow. Why couldn't they hurry? It would be over before they could reach the child. The scream reverberated through the cavern, and he glanced at his patrol leader. Could he not see that unless they arrived the child would be dead? When they finally reached the cavern where the still form of a Drow - no more than six or so years of age - lay, surrounded by Horrors he dashed in, trying to get to the all-to-still form as quickly as possible. Even as he ran, however, he heard the scream die away into a gurgle. Death had come to the little child. He felt it in his heart and cursed the Hooked Horrors, the Patrol leader, and his own slowness. Then the battle began, and there was no time for thought. He remembered, however. He remembered the callousness that the death had received. He remembered the cruelty of the Drow. His people were no longer his own.  
  
Pain, great surges of pain flew throughout her body. She was both hot and cold as the fever increased. Yet still she dragged herself on. The blood from her mangled body left a direct trail for predators to follow, but she pushed onward. A sword she had taken from the body of a fallen Drow patrol member she used as a staff to keep herself upright. If she stopped now, she would never be able to continue. This she knew, and so she pressed on through the dangerous Underdark. She cried aloud to Lloth, but found no answer. Her pleas went unheard. She cried to other gods, in desperation. Shear will alone kept her from death. She would live to die another day. She crawled onward, delirious from pain. Nothing mattered now, except that she keep on moving. She had no concept of time or of weariness. Her huge eyes colored a deep green, hard with concentration. If she had ever been a child, in the harsh Drow society that made sure it's citizens grew up fast, she was no longer. With every step, the slash across her stomach reopened, and the steady drip of the blood from the not insignificant cut on her forehead kept time with her steps. In her mind only one thing mattered: survival.  
  
From the muffled gloom came the sounds of pickaxes and shovels hard at work. Her mind did not take in these facts, did not put two and two together as she stumbled onward. Keep moving. The blackness around the edges of her vision had grown - she could barely see the world around her. With every breath it became harder to breathe, her head swam at the slightest movement. Her will, so formidable as to take her this far, began to collapse. She stumbled onward for a few more feet, then with a shudder collapsed to the ground, senseless. Under her, seeping out from beneath her tattered clothes, a small puddle of sticky blood began to form. Her eyes fluttered open once, twice, three times then lay still. With a sigh, she gave herself up for the second time.  
  
The Gnomes were at first wary when the figure staggered into their midst. Her bloodshot eyes, horror-filled and staring, took in nothing of her surroundings. She was covered in blood and dirt, leaning on a sword that should have been too heavy for her even to move and her clothes were in tatters around her. Without a sound, she collapsed, still fighting her loosing battle.  
  
The Gnomes were at first wary - they were often hunted by the Drow for sport and pleasure. Was this some other trick to lure them into complacency? Their leader, a kind-hearted fellow named Gmish, came cautiously to her side. She had survived some terrible ordeal, it was obvious. Now she hovered on the brink of death - he had heard of the horrors committed by the Drow on those of their own race and he did not doubt that this was yet another. However, he must look out for his men first and foremost. It would not do to get the Drow angry. This could still be some sort of horrible trap...  
  
These thoughts weighted his mind down for many a minute, but when he looked again on the dying child he had no heart to resist. Carefully, he gathered her in his arms and began to walk towards home. This child, even if she were a Drow, would be given a chance. For the second time in as many days, Iridiel R'einerre had cheated death.  
  
It was becoming something of a habit, you might say.  
  
In other words, Death was becoming mighty putout by this little girl who would not give in.  
  
It resolved to do something about it, possibly. If it had the time. There were many other people. It would see. No one ever thinks of Death as sentimental, but it knows when to quit while it is ahead.  
  
'OH WELL,' thought Death. 'ANOTHER DAY, PERHAPS. I AM RATHER BUISY AT THE MOMENT, AFTER ALL.'  
  
For those who have read Terry Pratchett's books, you know that Death ALWAYS SPEAKS IN CAPITOL LETTERS. 'If you had seen her when she came in,' thought Gmish, 'you would never have believed it to be possible that this could be the same dying little girl. The poor child deserves some happiness... yet I wonder what it was that made the Drow through her out. I suppose that will mercifully always remain a mystery.'  
  
As part of her ordeal, young Iridiel R'einerre had lost that part of her memory that existed before whatever it was that had happened to her. She would bear the scars all her life... without ever knowing the cause. Gmish was thankful for her forgetfulness, though, as he watched her and his youngest play in the courtyard below. Absorbed in a complex game of their own invention, her eyes shone with impish glee. She had already in these few months past absorbed Gnomish, assimilated it with the gusto of a child into her Drow vocabulary. It was always an interesting experience talking to her - she spoke now in a fluent mix of Gnome and Drow that was all her own. For all that, she seemed to be able to understand them all perfectly - and never failed to make herself clear when she needed too. 'Such as when she wants extra dessert...' he muttered under his breath, grinning. After a few reservations by other Gnomes Iridiel had fit right in.  
  
Iridiel was called by her Gnomish name now - Rhaine. Her real name was lost on the sands of time, and the Gnomes had been all too happy to give her a new one and erase the last trace of her past. Though it was still odd at times seeing a Drow among the younger ones, his heart warmed every time he thought of the recovery she had made.  
  
Shadows still crossed her eyes at times, brought by the wind with tantalizing whispers of dark corridors and shadowy monsters. She would wrack her brain trying to remember what had come before she had awoken bruised and bloody in the Gnomish quarters. She did not look like them. Did not act like them. Did not even speak the same language, for Lloth's... Lloth? Who was that..? It seemed an important name... the connotations brought back more unpleasant memories, of despair and loneliness. Lloth... it must be something bad. Whatever it meant. Where did she get the scars that crisscrossed her body? There were so many questions.  
  
A part of her longed for the day when all would be made clear. Another part feared that coming time with all of her great heart and soul. Rhaine was scouting ahead of her party, Amber eyes glinting as she looked for any hidden dangers in the path. The Drow had stepped up their attacks on the Gnomes, and extra vigilance was in order. Of course, she'd never even seen a Drow elf, but she had heard tales that they were a hundred feet tall - she discounted this. How could they stand in the tunnels if they were that tall? She did know that they were excellent fighters, though and did not want to risk her group. They were returning home after a successful mission, brimming with excitement, though still making sure to be cautious and careful. They had all had basic weapons training, but there was no sense risking an attack.  
  
She was only a few yards ahead of her party when she heard it - a sudden shout, followed by a few screams, then... silence. The silence of the deep. Darkness pressed in around her as she turned swiftly back, heart racing. D'jorin was in that group... if anything happened to him... She made herself slow down as she entered the area where they had been, from the sounds of it. Her eyes took in shapes, rapidly loosing their heat to the chill chamber. She stumbled in, forgetting all caution. They had been so careful... how had they been overwhelmed with so little effort?  
  
A voice, sweet with acrid loveliness, spoke. Some faint part of her knew that sound... a figure stepped into view. He pushed back his cloak to reveal long locks of stark white hair, mingling with an ebony face. Purple eyes, set in the face like amethysts took her in. He spoke again, all the while as horror was crashing down on her.  
  
They'd never said... never said where she came from. This, this, this... Drow looked like her - she was an enemy of her people!  
  
'I cannot be.' some distant part of her cried, but the reality was right in front of her.  
  
The figure was becoming puzzled. He stared at her, at the scar that crossed her face, at the horror in her eyes. Then his hand went to the hilt of his weapon.  
  
She turned and fled, sobbing, away towards home. She couldn't be a Drow. Slaughtered all of them. Even dear, sweet D'jorin, so good with sword and hammer. Why? She couldn't, just couldn't be a Drow. She was a Gnome!  
  
The head of the party. She'd ached to gain that distinction. This was supposed to be her first mission. Just an easy stroll. They'd been careful, overcautious even... how?... how?  
  
Questions reverberating in her mind, she fell to the tunnel ground, shaking.  
  
The Gnomes found her there two days later, and carried her home. 


	2. Chapter Two: Open Doors

Under Darkness, Under Light. Plot: When the Marauder's were in Hogwarts, there were actually five of them - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Rhea Oblodora. Rhea did not actually go to Hogwarts - she is a Dark Elf, and lives in the ruins of Mythril Hall beneath Hogwarts. But she and the Marauders became friends and she helped them with many of their more outrageous plots. During Harry's third year when Sirius was hiding out he got back in touch with her. When he was hiding during Harry's fifth year, she 'spied' for him so that he could feel like he was doing something. Now she comes to Hogwarts seeking Sirius (she doesn't know he fell through the curtain) with bad news of Voldemort's newest plans.  
  
Cast of Characters: Moony: Remus Lupin, werewolf member of the Marauders. He has a good sense of humor, but is also one of the more sensible members of the team. Wormtail: His animagus form of a rat tells it all. A scared little man who betrayed everyone in exchange for his own life. He now allies with Voldemort. Padfoot: Sirius, whose animagus was that of a dog. Very fun loving and carefree, but tends towards revenge. The 'loose cannon' of the Marauders, but dependable and loyal to friends. Prongs: Deceased member of the Marauders, his animagus was the form of a stag. Father to Harry. Rhea Oblodora: The Dark Elf of the Marauders. No one but them know she even exists, and she makes her home in the Ruins of Mythril Hall. She does not talk of her past, but it is probably bloody and danger-filled. She lives for adventure and excitement and does not mind a dash of danger. Extremely loyal, however. Harry Potter: A young boy who has a lot on his plate. Balancing schoolwork with the obligatory 'saving the world,' he has fought Voldy almost every school year. He is traumatized and secretive, but a good friend and a brave child. Ron Weasly: A good friend of Harry's, he tends to be rash and careless. A great friend in a tough corner, however. He loves Hermoine Granger. Hermoine Granger: Born to Muggle parents, she is extremely bright and talented. The 'brains' of the kids, she is nonetheless courageous and will follow her friends into danger. She does try her hardest to keep her best friends out of trouble, however (often to no avail). She likes Ron Weasly. Voldy: What would any great story be without the classic Evil Villain. Voldemort is a returned Dark Lord who wants to conquer the world.  
  
I own nothing in this story 'cause if it was me who wrote the Harry Potter books I'd be rather rich and could buy all the books I wanted.  
Plus, I wouldn't have to get up every morning to go to school. Oh well, if you think that I did write the series, call me and maybe I can interest you in plans for your own, new-and-improved DeathStar (it really works. trust me.)  
  
And now, without further adeu (or babbling, in my case) on with the tale: Disclaimer: I own nothing. All this is the property of the imaginations of the creators of Harry Potter and the Forgotten Realms. I wish I created them… but I didn't pouts so enjoy the story!  
  
It was a dark and stormy night. As in all tales as such, the wind lashed and the lightning flashed and the skies weeped rain so discolored with mud that it seemed to be blood. The gutters ran thick with the thick red liquid, dripping off gargoyles noses and down their mouths as they sputtered in protest. More than one lightning bolt came crashing down to land with a menacing crash on one leaning tower or another with a clatter of masonry. Each flash lit up the twisted trees and roots of the Forbidden Forest, where even the giant spiders were huddled beneath their webs. It was not a good night to be outdoors. 'Not a good night at all.' Grumbled a stooped form swathed in a heavy, waterlogged cloak, that made its way up the path. 'I'm gonna kill Sirius for this, positively kill him. He owes me one.' As a particularly violent flash resounded for a moment she winced, blinded by the light, before making her way again to the secret door, hidden behind ancient crusted masonry and lichen. With quick and agile fingers she found the necessary pressure points and pushed. The door gave way with a creak of twisted stone, revealing an even darker tunnel mouth. Then she was inside, sheltered from the howling storm. 'Thank the gods. You're early, Rhea. Why don't you make a cup of tea or something? You're chilled to the bone.' She muttered. Over the years of solitary living in the depths she had grown used to talking to herself, a personal quirk that had brought the Marauders a number of laughs in the past. A brief smile lit her face momentarily before she pushed her sodden hair out of her eyes and walked down the passage. Despite the fact that it was a pitch-black realm, she moved without hesitation towards her home. Her wide amber eyes switched comfortably back into their infra-red vision, courtesy of her elven blood, and she moved without a sound into her realm. Here she was safe, and woe betide any who thought to find her. Soon the rain washed away all evidences of her passage. She had virtually disappeared.  
  
Harry closed the window of the boy's dorm as another flash lit the sky. For just a moment he thought he'd seen a shape staggering across the grounds, but it was probably a trick of the storm. Everyone was saying it was one the worst to grace Hogwarts in anyone, even Dumbledoor's, memory. Classes in towers such as Astronomy had been canceled, and most students had opted for an early night. Sixth year was, predictably, even harder than the year before. Harry shuddered at even the thought of his O.W.L. potions class, taught by none other than Severus Snape. Across the room, Neville's steady snoring provided heavy accompaniment to the crashing sky. Other students, without Neville's ability to sleep through anything, were not so lucky. Harry was especially tired – he'd had early morning Quiddich practice every morning for the past three weeks. But try as he might, he just could not drift into dark oblivion. He didn't sleep well lately; his dreams were crowded with Sirius' death and other unpleasant images. He'd woken up near to screaming on countless occasions, and his lip was sure to have a scar from the number of times he'd bitten it to stop from crying out. He rolled over again, listening to the booming crescendo that was the outside world. His time with the Dursley's was over, at least. After the last year, and Sirius' death, he had not felt like dealing with them at all. The time had gone by quicker than expected, however, because Duddley was away at some friend or another's cottage for most of the summer. Aunt Petunia had been near inconsolable about missing her 'Dear Diddy Dumkins' for a few days. Not dealing with the fat pig had gone a long way to keeping Harry from blowing his cool.  
  
Although Harry did not know it, at the exact moment that the hidden door slammed shut outside he felt an excruciating pain in his scar. Visions of Voldemort shouting furiously and frantic shouts filled his reality for a few moments before he fell back, gasping for breath. Old Voldy was in an awfully bad mood tonight. He wondered what it was about – lately it had seemed like the Death Eaters had been having all too many victories. The Daily Prophet was full of stories of terror, chaos, and dark despair. Too many people had died, far too many. At least Fudge had finally admitted to the Dark Lord's return… but it had ruined any credibility Fudge had had with the Wizarding World. Now it was as if no one was in power – no one trusted him anymore. That was possibly worse than the alternative! The Wizarding World was walking head-on into Voldemort's hands, and to everyone's frustration there was nothing anyone could do about it.  
  
To make bad matters even worse (if that was possible) there were reports of Death Eaters attacking meetings when there was no way they could know about them. Breaches of security that were impossible, except for the fact that they had happened. The reports of attackers in the darkness, spells bouncing off them ineffectively even worried Dumbledoor. Harry had seen the pictures of the bodies… mutilated and torn apart inside clouds of darkness by. The calculated brutality was enough to turn even Harry's stomach. Hermoine had gone green and ran from the room. Ron had crowed over her weakness for hours – until Harry took him aside and 'reminded' him of what had happened when Ron had first seen the photos. The only clue they had was the body of one creature, who had been unlucky enough to get stabbed by a panicked muggle's gun. It was thin, with dark skin and abnormally large eyes. Locks of bone-white hair matted with blood, a miniature crossbow it's deathgrip. It matched nothing anyone had ever seen. Lupin's face had turned white when he saw it. Harry attributed it to all the blood… though Harry had seen too much blood now to be much sickened by it. He found it a little strange, but put it out of his mind.  
  
Harry shook his head and turned over. He needed to stop thinking about all this. It was so hard to fall asleep these days what with all the fear and waiting for Death Eaters to come. Sleep was what Harry needed, however, if he was going to survive Hogwarts' sixth year. He let out a heartfelt sigh and closed his eyes. Just go to sleep… Rhea paced back and forth in the room that served as her living room, kicking up clouds of dust as she moved. Her wet cloak was spread near a small fire to dry, along with her sodden clothes. She could be seen now as wearing a knee-length leather tunic with short sleeves and soft leather trousers. Her hair, which was long and bone-white was held back by a few well-placed braids and fell majestically down her back. High leather boots, well worn and supple had twin daggers tucked away inside, and hidden in the sleeve of her cotton blouse was a sheath with throwing knives tucked accessibly away. At her hips swung three sheaths - two scimitars and a longsword that she wore with the air of a trained fighter.  
  
"Curse it all! Where is he? Rorix's Beard, Sirius you're LATE!" she muttered angrily. Her footsteps had traced a circular path in the dust that glimmered wetly from the rain on her boots. "That's it. I've waited long enough. I don't care if you ARE in hiding, Sirius. I'm going to call you right now. This. Instant." With that she whirled around and marched to a wooden chest by the pallet that marked her sleeping quarters. Taking a small silver key from a necklace around her neck, she unlocked the chest with a small click.  
  
She had to dig for a few minutes to find the object of her search, pulling out many mysterious objects wrapped in faded cloth. Finally she stopped, a grin alighting on her face as she pulled a small silver mirror out of a cloth pouch. Wiping the surface of the mirror, she breathed on it and watched the glass fog up. When the fog compleatly covered the glass, she spoke three words in a strange language. Imediatly the fog disapeared and the scene changed to that of a dark room with a number of four poster beds. She frowned - this didn't look like the Black Manor - but spoke anyway.  
  
"Sirius Black where in Faerun ARE you! You're two days late, for your information and I have important information! Did you forget this? I'm doing you a favore here and I need you to tell Dumbledor about all this! Get over here right now, I don't care I'm waking you up or not. Do you hear me! UP NOW get out of the bed, you lazy goblin-swine and Talk to me, Padfoot!" She stopped screaming just long enough to wait for an answer from a sleep-fogged Sirius, but hearing none she continued. "Sirius Black, if you don't get over here right now I'm going to come over there and hurt you! I know where you live, you know!" Suddenly her voice became sickeningly sweet. "Paadfooottt... I'm waatchingg youuu..." Her voice became hard again as she started growling impatiently in a strange language.  
  
"Sirius' dead."  
  
The words seemed to hit her like a ton of bricks... or maybe a particularly heavy ogre. She paled a bit, then said in a trembling voice "d-dead? Sirius Black?"  
  
"Who are you anyway?" The sleep-fogged voice on the other side of the mirror belonged to a young man with greenish eyes and messy black hair. He was shoving a pair of glasses on his nose as he spoke, and staring at the mirror in amazement. For a moment she thought she was looking at Prongs, and stuttered "P-Prongs?"  
  
"Uh, no. That would be my Dad. Also dead. And now that you've woken up my entire dorm screaming for Sirius could you please explain what on Earth is going on? Why are you appearing in SIrius' mirror at three in the morning? And WHY do you know my dad's old nickname?"  
  
"You're Prong's son?" She must have sounded so stupid, she knew, but it was comming too fast. Sirius - yes, he had mentioned something about Prong's son. "What happened to Sirius? Dumbledor was trying to 'keep him safe' or something, I thought. How'd he die?"  
  
"It was an accident - my fault, really. Voldemort tricked me, and Sirius came to save me." The boy's eyes teared up for a moment and she thought he was going to cry. He got ahold of himself, however, and began again. "You still haven't said who you are."  
  
"I'm Rhea. Can you take this mirror to... Mooney?" She couldn't remember the name he'd used outside the group. Did this man know him at all - if not, they were in trouble. "Please, it's important. About the one you call Voldemort." She begged.  
  
The boy started at the Dark Lord's name, but became serious again. "Uh sure. One sec." He went out of view for a second and the sounds of rummaging could be heard. Then he pulled out a silver cloak - she remembered it as Prong's invisibility cloak - and disapeared under it. Then the mirror blurred as it was picked up. It was silent as the mirror traveled under the cloak. They came to a door labeled "Professor Lupin, Defense Against the Dark Arts." Harry knocked, and in a moment a disheveled Lupin came to the door.  
  
"Professor Lupin - there's some strange woman on Sirius' mirror. She says her name's Rhea, and's been calling you all by your old names. She says it's important."  
  
It was startling how quickly Lupin pulled him into the room, grabing the mirror.  
  
"Rhea? What's going on?"  
  
"Mooney!" There was a definite sound of relief in her voice. She pushed her long white hair out of her eyes - she was bending over the mirror - and began to talk quickly in another language. "Elen sila lumenn omentilvo! Morro-"  
  
"Please, Rhea. Harry can be trusted, and elvish gives me a headache."  
  
"Mooney, the Dark Elves have joined with the one called Voldemort."  
  
"WHAT! Are you sure about this? How?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure. The one leading them is... is my brother." Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "They took my father, Mooney. The cloaked ones came and took him away, used him to negotiate an alliance with the Drow. I could do nothing. It was Wormtail - he told them where to find us. I still don't know how they did it, but they did. Curse it all, when I find that brother of mine... he'll wish he'd never been born."  
  
"Rhea, I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault. Why didn't you see me, when you came back to Hogwarts? Sirius did. But you guys just left and forgot all about me. Then Wormtail goes bad, and you don't even think to warn me. I invited him in, Mooney. I was glad he came! And then I woke up, half stunned, a few hours later with my father gone."  
  
"Rhea, things were bad. We didn't want you to have to get involved."  
  
"Well I am now - and what's this about Sirius being d-dead?"  
  
"It was an accident, but yes, he is dead."  
  
"Damn it all. He was better than any of you! You just forgot about us as soon as you left! Now the Drow have come..."  
  
"Rhea, I'm sorry. Like I said we just didn't want you to have to get involved. And it would have been suspicious if we'd come back to Hogwarts at all... what do you mean by that? 'the Drow have come?'"  
  
"Just what I said: Voldemort's allied with the evil ones of my race. You wizards are in BIG trouble. You don't know how big yet, but you are. I'm not sure if you really have much of a chance at this point, really. Of course I'll help... under certain conditions, of course. I would sugest you tell that Headmaster of yours - Dumbledor I believe he is called?"  
  
"Yes. That would be a good idea." Remus coughed. "I'll go right away. Um - should I meet you at the usual place, then?"  
  
"Yes. I'll finish packing and meet you in a few." The woman turned to leave the mirror, then cocked her head. In one swift sudden movement she dived aside as something flew out of the darkness around her. The mirror fell from her hands and shattered on the masonry. The mirror in Remus' hands grew identical cracks, then went dark.  
  
Harry stared at the dark glass in amazement, then glanced up at Professor Lupin questioningly. Lupin didn't look worried, to Harry's surprise. Instead, he had gone over to a small crystal mirror by his own bedside and was speaking to Professor Dumbledor's face in the glass. He finished speaking, then casually gathered up his wand and slipped on his school robes. "Comming, Harry?"  
  
"Uh - yeah. Aren't you worried about that woman? Who is she?"  
  
"Rhea can take care of herself. I've seen her in any number of tight spots. She was the only one of us who never needed the invisibility cloak to pass unseen." He laughed fondly at some memory or other, then continued. "No one knows this, but there were actually five Marauders. During our fifth year we discovered some strange ruins under Hogwarts itself. After we had been exploring them for some time - and Rhea had amused herself playing any number of Interesting Tricks on us in the name of 'getting us to leave well enough alone,' we managed to capture her. She fought like a banshee - Peter was in the Hospital ward for weeks and he would have been there longer if she hadn't wanted not to hurt us permanently - but we had looked up a few spells that actually worked on her. We got to talking, and she got initiated into our group, eventually. Sirius especially became rather good friends with her. Then we left Hogwarts and went on with our lives. We all decided when Voldemort returned that we shouldn't get her involved. Sirius was rather put out about all that, I remember. We turn here, come on."  
  
Harry followed Professor Remus "Mooney" Lupin down the sloping corridor into the darkness. The Fifth Marauder... huh. What he'd give to see Dumbledor's face when THIS one was explained to him. If Remus wasn't phased by sudden flying things attacking a strange women screaming at Sirius at three in the morning from the bowels of the earth... he wondered who was the crazier - the Marauders or this Rhea person. He figured that he was about to find that out.  
  
Yes, Tolkien's elvish! 


End file.
